


The Gardens of Val Royeaux

by shittybundaskenyer



Series: Two Fereldans Let Loose in Val Royeaux [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Honeymoon, Mild Smut, One Shot, Post-Blight, Sweet, and it's, ok this is basically all fluff, they have a date in val royeaux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittybundaskenyer/pseuds/shittybundaskenyer
Summary: Alistair and Delia are on a date in Val Royeaux.





	The Gardens of Val Royeaux

**Author's Note:**

> Ok I'm not gonna lie, this is basically just fluff and kissing.

Val Royeaux is a mess and she adores every part of it. The vivid blues and oranges and _the gold_ , the marble lion statues guarding the streets and the smell of different pastries and sweets. It makes her skin tingle with excitement as she and Alistair stride down on one of the busy streets of the Summer Bazaar. She’s wearing a sky blue dress that Alistair bought her a few days ago, the Cousland family sword still dangling at her side. It looks a bit silly, but he said she looks like a queen anyways.

She wonders sometimes about what could’ve happened with them if Alistair would have been made king. Maybe they’d sit on the throne of Ferelden at this very moment, buried deep in politics and court etiquette, but it’d be not so different from this, with the taint still poisoning their blood and with her body unable to produce and heir. It hurts sometimes, the thought of what could’ve been if things go different at the Landsmeet, or even way before. Maybe she’d be in Highever with her family, marrying some idiot son of a powerful Bann, leaving the fighting for the _men_ , like her mother did when it turned out that she’s carrying Fergus in her womb. _Family first._

She’s happy that she’s here, though. Not with a Bann’s idiot son, but with her _royal bastard,_ her Alistair, scarred and a bit weaker, but alive, and in a very long time, happy.

She smiles a little at the thought and he looks at her, with an eyebrow raised curiously. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she tries to hold back her laughter but it bursts out from her anyways. Alistair looks more confused than before, but a small smile is forming in the corner of his mouth. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, waiting for her response what never comes.

They turn into a back alley where the buildings stand close together, casting dark blue shadows over them. They’re the only souls wandering here.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Yes,” she smirks and steps a little closer, her hands reaching for his, and he tangles his fingers between hers.

“Could you take it down?” he lowers his voice as he leans closer, almost whispering in her ear. A shiver runs down her spine from the feeling of his warm breath on her skin.

“Yes.”

She tilts her head up, planting a small peck on the corner of his mouth, and then captures his lips in a proper kiss, caressing his cheek with her other hand. He gasps, surprised, but he’s reaching for her waist to pull her closer already.

Delia steps back a bit, but Alistair is not quite done yet, he slides his hand up to the nape of her neck and kisses her again.

“Just one more,” he whispers onto her lips and she chuckles, a sweet little sound, and he leans forward to taste that beautiful giggle.

Footsteps echo from the entrance of the alley so he pulls away at last, but his hand grabs her own to entwine their fingers again.

It’s strange, wandering around Val Royeaux like lovers, hand in hand, without any heavy armor covering their bodies from head to toe. It’s so easy to get used to the touches—shoulders bumping together and staying close afterwards, arms laced together, a thumb caressing the back of a palm. Alistair, still touch-starved, loves it more and more as they continue their little journey towards the other end of the Orlesian capital.

Soon they leave behind the Summer Bazaar and it’s bridge and descend into the heart of the city.

Val Royeaux is busy, carriages running around, guards patrolling the streets and the songs from the taverns spilling onto the bare cobblestones in front of their doors. The Orlesians speak softly, the words rolling down their tongues smooth like velvet and it’s mesmerizing too, as just like the hundreds of orange and blue houses are. Golden and marble lions guard the squares here too, and she can smell the salty air of the harbor even if they’re in the middle of the city.

The sun is high on the horizon when they finally reach the gardens, the scent of thousands of flowers and the earthy smell of soil and fallen leaves fills her lungs, makes her chest ache. It’s beautiful even from the other side of the stone wall that separates it from the rest of the street. Marble lions sit on the top of each pole and two golden one roars towards the sky at the gate.

Alistair looks at her from behind his shoulder, his eyes glinting with a smile. She raises her eyebrows questioningly but he doesn’t say a word, he just grabs her hand more firmly instead and pushes open the gate, pulling her in.

It’s more beautiful inside. Small paths made from white stone emerge from the vivid green grass between overflowing flower beds and pots. The trees stand proudly next to each other and the wind whispers between their shiny leaves. The whole garden is filled with life, maybe has a life on it’s own. It breathes and her palm itches to step closer, to touch the plants and feel the life beating in them.

Alistair watches her from the corner of his eyes with a soft expression on his face and his lips slightly quirk up.

"Do you like it?"

Delia flicks her gaze to him and he already regrets the question. She's mesmerized and despite the garden's beauties, her expression is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

Without a word, she reaches for his shoulders and pulls him into a tight embrace, mumbling her thanks into his neck.

After they part, they roam the small paths, stopping at every new flower bed so she can smell each one of the plants. There are almost no one here except for them so she laughs freely and he chases her when she runs off and no one looks at them questioningly.

They only stop when the late afternoon lights turn the garden into a field of dark shadows and vivid colors. She leads him towards a large tree where they can sit down under it's old branches.

Alistair however stops her before she could sit and reaches under his vest so he can pull out the dagger from it's sheath, the blade he got from a local blacksmith in Redcliffe while they were traveling through, and sunlight gets trapped on the weapon's Silverite surface. Delia inhales sharply and her expression softens, her hands already reaching for the blade. _A gift. Another one, precisely._

"Can I touch it?" she whispers, her eyes flicking back to Alistair for a second.

"It's yours," he smiles and hands her the dagger, turning it between them with a swift move so the hilt's facing her.

She pulls it away slowly, rising the blade towards her face to get a closer look. The blade is clean, never used, and sharp as a razor. The hilt is decorated with carved dogs and laurels and her heart swells at the sight.

"It's beautiful."

"Shall we try it out?" Alistair raises an eyebrow while he extends a hand to grasp hers.

He points a finger towards the tree next to them but Delia is still confused so he steps behind her and places a hand above her hips, slowly guiding her closer. Her back's pressed to his chest and she feels his every breath lifting the hairs next to her ear. She relaxes into his embrace and lets him guide her hand, and with it, the dagger, too.

They carve a heart into the tree's bark and she thinks she finally knows where this is going when a slightly angular ' _D_ ' and a '+' follows it. He finishes the carving with an ' _A_ ' and he rests his chin on the crown of her head, probably admiring their work.

"Now we conquered Orlais, too."

"You're so silly," she actually giggles and his heart skips a beat. "We're together since the Blight. We're _married_ , Alistair."

"Are you trying to say that I'm childish and living my wildest teenager dreams right now?" He grins and turns her towards him by her waist, leaning down until their lips almost touch.

"Well, if you put it that way…" she whispers, mouth to mouth, bodies pressed together. She pulls him towards her while she kisses him, and they stumble until her back touches the tree. He buries a hand in her dark locks and presses her more firmly to the tree, licking her lower lip and slipping his tongue into her mouth.

They kiss until he's out of breath and a familiar heat pools in his belly. But she feels that fire too, she grabs his hair and slips her hands under his vest and shirt and groans when his thigh slips between her legs.

She tries to shake off her boots while still kissing him so they end up tumbling and falling to the ground. Alistair’s who lands first, the air running out of his lungs in a low hiss and Delia’s head colliding with his nose.

" _Ouch!_ " His face pulls into a frown and blood already starts flowing from his nose when she reaches for his face.

"Shit, Alistair I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright," he mumbles and pinches his nose. Bloods sweeps into his stubble and she doesn't hesitate to tore a piece of cloth from her underskirt to help him stop the bleeding.

She holds the cloth to his nose until the bleeding stops. His gaze never leaves her, not until she wipes his face clean and presses a careful kiss onto the tip of his nose.

She’s straddling him, her body on top of his is a pleasant weight, long brown curls falling over her shoulders and tickling his jawline. He slides a hand over her stomach and his thumb grazes one of her breasts through the fabric of her dress, slowly, oh so slowly, venturing higher until he can touch her collarbone, drawing an invisible line onto her skin with nothing but the heat of a fingertip. She exhales, a shaky sound, and presses her body even closer, leaning down to capture his lips in a languid kiss.

“Will your nose be alright?”

“I’ve been hit harder before, believe me,” he winks, eyes shining happily. “Besides, taking care of it further will stop me from kissing you.”

“I’ve always loved kissing you when you were covered in blood,” irony sweeps into her tone and she hits his chest playfully, then leans closer, “now kiss me again.”

And he does until they’re both out of breath.

She remembers how they made love when the darkspawn still crept in every corner, when the back of her skull constantly tingled, letting her know when they were lurking around.

It was not so different from this.

They were foggy nights with the rotten forests stretching towards the horizon, the air heavy with the scent of rain and the smell of fire and tainted flesh. It didn’t matter then. They had each other in the not-so-existing privacy of a tent, on a worn bedroll. Her knees were skinned then, too. Grass fell into her hair, she was still sweaty from the day’s journey on foot and she still smelled like darkspawn. Or at least she thought.

But Alistair just didn’t care. He pulled her close to him and kissed her softly, murmuring pleas and the broken syllables of her name onto her lips, as he does now, too.

Her fingers slide under his head, cradling his nape and she smiles, just a twitch of the corner of her mouth, but he notices her every little movement and doesn’t hesitate to act upon her invitation. Because it _was_ an offer, that little smirk, and his belly is already on fire as she kisses him again with more vigor this time, easing open his mouth with the tip of her nose and capturing his already opened, waiting lips with her own.

Delia pulls away for a moment and he gasps for air, a low groan leaving his lungs but when her lips doesn’t return immediately, he opens his eyes, still in a haze, and chokes on another moan, clearing his throat afterwards.

She’s almost fully bare when he looks up, only her smallclothes remain as she tosses her pale blue dress next to a group of blooming embrium.

“D-Delia, what are you doing?”

“What? You don’t like me stark naked atop your body anymore?” she grins, a broader smile this time, showing teeth, and his hand twitches on her thigh and his cock in his trousers, too.

_The traitorous bastard._

“Of course I do,” he leans forward until he sits up and wounds his arms around her. Lying is completely useless, she knows him as well as he knows her. “But I want your stark naked body all to myself,” the side of his face presses to her jawline as he whispers into the crook of her neck, “and I’ll not share the view with some Orlesian bastard who's hiding behind the bushes.” His lips taste her skin as the past words leave his mouth, licking the little spot behind her ear.

Delia shudders, but her eyes tell a different story. She’s confident, prideful even.

“No one is here, Alistair,” she presses that wicked smirk of hers to his collarbone and he’s aware that his fingertips are squeezing her thighs too tight but he doesn’t have the strength to pull his hands away. “And besides, if there is someone, _let them see._ ”

_Maker_.

He knows her well enough to know that she was never feeling awkward when she ended up changing clothes or bathing when the others were nearby. She knows her body, how it looks, where it’s different and where’s similar to others. The scars, the faint stretch marks on her thighs, the freckles and moles peppering her skin, her muscled legs and arms and that thin, soft layer of fat on her belly. It’s all that makes her unique—a body shaped by fire and steel. She knows it's power perfectly well.

She presses open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone and the caramel-colored triangle of skin that his shirt leaves bare.

One nimble finger hooks into the neckline of his leather vest while the other goes for the buttons, popping open them one by one, her lips never leaving his skin. The laces of his shirt are the next in line, but she has something different in mind for those. She pulls them open with her teeth agonizingly slow while she pushes off the vest from his shoulders.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Alistair sighs into her hair, his hands coming up to caress the skin just under her breasts.

“Doing what?”

“Making me fall in love with you over and over.”

“Alistair, we’re married,” she whispers and pulls back a bit so she can look straight into his eyes.

“But it’s true.”

They make love in the soft grass. The small rocks and the bumps of the earth presses into the small of her back and scrapes her knees and green patches of broken grass cover her skin, hiding away the thousands of constellations of her freckles. They’re even more visible in the early afternoon light, bright pink and brown against her porcelain skin.

When all their clothes are shed she has him on the pleasantly cool earth, takes him slowly, savoring every second of their union until it lasts. Alistair is quieter than usual, but his heartbeat is so loud she can hear it clearly. They kiss and they part and then collide again like the northern coasts of Ferelden with the Waking Sea, where the cliffs of the shore are washed away by the wild waves, picked apart rock by rock and you feel like you’ve reached the end of the world.

It’s like being with her, Alistair thinks, like standing on the edge of the world and not afraid to jump and fall.

He’s still dizzy as he holds her flush against his chest, buried deep inside her as thousands of little jolts of pleasure run through his body. Her heavy breathing echoes in his ear and he nuzzles the crook of her neck, licking off the sweat from her skin and kissing her there.

“Do you have a thing for letting other people hear our lovemaking?” he mumbles, the words coming out of his mouth quite weakly, a whisper, nothing more.

“Maybe?” she chuckles.

“Now I understand everything,” he turns onto his side, pulling away a bit but his hand stays on her waist, his thumb stroking a long-healed scar. He’s smiling like an idiot.

They lie in the grass in silence, watching how the wind makes the deep green leaves of the trees dance above their heads and how it carries the sweet scent of the roses. He watches how the shadows play across her hips and shoulders too, and how the sun makes her skin look even brighter. She’s glowing like a princess from a fairy-tale. A warrior-princess, of course.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her lips tickling his jaw.

“For what?”

“For bringing me here. For marrying me. For surviving the Blight... For being my best friend, for being my new family,” her words are quiet but firm and he raises his hand up to her neck to cradle her nape and kiss her properly.

“You don’t have to thank me anything. I’m here because I could say all of these to you, too… So thank you as well, my love.”

 

 


End file.
